Rosslyn Boathouse, by Essex artist and cartoonist, Sid Couchey.
Yesterday I mentioned that the day was “an especially significant milestone for me“, but I postponed further explanation. Today, I’ll touch on this personal achievement by way of revisiting another previously postponed promise. Both obliquely reveal themselves in this excerpt from my October 10, 2022 update, “Old House Journaling“.
Yesterday marked ten weeks of old house journaling. Every. Single. Day. Two months and ten days back at the helm of this wayward, meandering, sometimes unruly experiment I call Rosslyn Redux. I emphasize the daily component of this benchmark because it’s been an important part of the goal I committed to at the end of July. Starting on August first I would resuscitate Rosslyn Redux. The why part of this equation is important, but I intend to tackle that separately. For now I’ll touch on the how… (Source: Old House Journaling)
At the time, I introduced how I was reinvigorating the Rosslyn Redux project. Today I’m ready to explain why rebooting and revitalizing this decade and a half old initiative has taken on new significance for me. But first, that momentous milestone!
100 Days of Journaling
Yesterday marked a new benchmark on my quest to post… every… single… day for one year. One hundred days, so far. No skips. At least one Rosslyn update each day. Quite a few late night, last minute posts, but so far I’ve managed to squeak it out every time. Phew!
This means that I’m more than a quarter of the way to my goal of 365 straight days. A year in the life of Rosslyn! And with over three months of consistent posting I’m cautiously growing more confident that I can reach my goal. There have been some unanticipated challenges (such as Susan falling gravely ill and landing in the hospital), but the truth is that bringing fresh vision and vigor to Rosslyn Redux has invigorated me beyond all expectations. My mission is 100% clear. My timeline and deadlines and expectations? All clear.
Each new reflection, poem, photo essay, artifact, etc. is driving me deeper into a profoundly curious conversation with Rosslyn, compelling me to explore Susan and my passionate relationship with this property (and even our family’s and friends’ connections to this property), inspiring me to wonder how a brick-and-mortar home mysteriously became a member of our family, and challenging me to try and gather the dots into a constellation that makes some sort of sense…
Why Reboot Rosslyn Redux?
Once upon a time a pair of newlyweds decided to move from Manhattan to Essex because they’d fallen head over heals in love with an old home on the Adirondack shore of Lake Champlain (cue “In Old Champlain“…). They imagined a wholesome new life. A chance to reawaken Rosslyn, a dilapidated historic property, while reinvigorating themselves. They wanted to start a new chapter together. Maybe they actually needed to start a new chapter together. The last chapter had been thrilling. Passionate. Fulfilling. But also tragic. The ache of recent loss — plus the sort of soul searching and recalibration catalyzed by bereavement and unanticipated endings — stirred their new adventure no less than their capricious optimism. A couple of years to rehab Rosslyn’s house, boathouse, carriage barn, icehouse, and grounds, they surmised. Then a couple more years to enjoy the fruits of their labor while rebooting and plotting their next escapade.
This was the plan.
But time stretches. Reality meanders. Plans change.
Our original timeline extended exponentially without our even realizing it. So much living. A decade. More… Our orbit was widening to include Santa Fe where I’d first lived in my twenties. We moved fluidly between the lush Adirondack Coast and the high desert southwest, happy homecomings at both. A pendulum path between two sanctuaries.
And then tragedy struck. Susan’s mother, Shirley, unexpectedly passed away. While we were still reeling, the pandemic eclipsed everything. We hastened home and hunkered. A week. Two weeks. All spring. All summer… Rosslyn nurtured us. A sanctuary in the storm. As we grew through the loss of a mother, the loss of a mother-in-law, and the flagging morale of a nation struggling through the lingering malaise of the Covid-19 pandemic, we began to understand our relationship with Rosslyn. Although we had set out to rehabilitate her, time and again she had rehabilitated us.
This past summer, sixteen years after Rosslyn became our home (exactly four times the number of years we’d originally envisioned living here!) Susan and I — no longer newlyweds — began to plot our next chapter. A new adventure. The details are still coalescing, but we’ve begun to reimagine our relationship with Rosslyn. Navigating this transition, growing through this bittersweet liminality is precisely why I decided to reboot Rosslyn Redux. Disciplining myself daily to relive this chapter, to ask questions and struggle with answers, to laugh and cry, to figure out if and how we have been shaped by this curious character called Rosslyn, and to begin mapping the future for her and for us. This is why I am rebooting Rosslyn Redux. And I am humbled and grateful to you for embarking on this journey with me. Thank you.
Last Friday, I teased a recap of our recent deck rebuild — or more specifically an overview of installing garapa decking on the newly rebuilt deck — but then I proceeded to dive headlong into a 2008-9 decking-with-garapa flashback. Sometimes it’s helpful to discover the backstory before plunging into the present.
Here was my swaggering introduction (before getting lost down the rabbit hole…)
But you needn’t wait any longer. Patience is overrated, and the new deck “eye candy” is ready. Pictures aplenty coming your way shortly, but first a little backward glance to Rosslyn’s first garapa deck waaayyy back in 2008-2009. You see, this newly completed deck is a redo of the same deck and decking completed during our epic rehabilitation project a decade and a half ago.
So, without further ado, let’s look at the first iteration of Rosslyn’s garapa deck. (Source: Garapa Decking 2008-2009)
It was nostalgic to look backward at the original deck from inception through evolution through… failure. (Actually I didn’t include any of the documentation of the deck substructure’s gradual but premature decay. But I do have some unsettling photos squirreled away to review sometime. Maybe as a way to celebrate the longevity of the replacement deck.)
Today, instead of looking backward, it’s time to showcase this A+ rebuild, the handsome material we used, and the remarkable team that transformed a frustrating stutter-start (and a heady pipe dream) into a magnificent outdoor living space to make memories with family and friends.
Installing Garapa Decking… Again!
Before I plunge into the process (and handsome results!) of installing garapa decking on Rosslyn’s newly rebuilt deck during summer 2022, I’ll fill you in on the evolution of this project.
As you may already know, at the end of 2008 and beginning of 2009 Rosslyn’s deck looked picture perfect. In fact, it looked almost indistinguishable from the finished photos I’ll be sharing shortly in this post. That’s, of course, because the new deck is simply the old deck built again. Built better, because the substructure will not deteriorate prematurely like its TimberSIL predecessor.
The plan and timeline for Rosslyn’s replacement deck came into focus over a year ago.
During the summer of 2021 we allowed a carpenter to sweet talk us into entrusting him with… [three separate, historically sensitive, vitally important carpentry projects.] Although we initially informed him that our confidence was wavering given his subpar communication and organizational record during the planning and scheduling phase, we ignored our misgivings (and the warnings of many) and allowed him to persuade us that we had nothing to worry about. He planned to start by tackling the boathouse gangway and waterfront stairway in September/October, and then he’d move on to the house deck. We’d be so impressed, he assured us, that we’d then hire him to rehabilitate the icehouse. If only he built as well as he talked! (Source: Rosslyn Redux)
I’ve already covered in brief but painful details the calamitous unraveling of this 2021 plan, so I’ll sidestep the misery and fast-track to the good part. While our carpenter fiasco of the previous year might be summed up as a run-of-the-mill “crash and burn” story, this summer’s refreshing sequel was a quintessential “phoenix rising” story of mythic proportions.
And while there are so many “main characters” in this sequel that I can’t really credit one single protagonist — this was a truly inspiring group that coalesced into a collaborative, skilled, productive, respectful, creative, communicative team — it was Hroth Ottosen who served as the unmistakable catalyst. If I’m able, I’m hoping to eventually persuade Hroth to share his very personal decision to roadtrip east from Santa Fe, New Mexico to spearhead Rosslyn’s deck rebuild after the 2022 catastrophic wildfire season that ravaged the southwest. For now, I’ll say simply that Hroth reminds us that it is possible to emerge from calamitous circumstances braver, wiser, stronger, and freer than we were beforehand. I see an uncanny parallel between BOTH Rosslyn’s current rehab projects and the aforementioned 2021 fiasco AND Hroth’s decision to sojourn with us awhile on the Adirondack Coast. Like I’ve already suggested, a phoenix rising from the ashes!
Garapa v2.0 (aka Re-decking)
Time to dive in! I tried to post relatively current updates on the team’s progress during July, August, and September, so rather than getting in the way of the story, I’m embedding our Instagram posts that chronicle our step-by-step journey installing garapa decking (and sealing the boards to preserve and enhance their already breathtaking natural beauty.) I’ll add a few thoughts along the way, but for the most part a quick scroll through the images and videos will tell a purer and more visually satisfying story than my words.
The decision to deck with garapa back in 2008 rested on several considerations:
quality and endurance to outperform more conventional wood decking given the variable demands and extremes of our Adirondack Coast location, and
color and grain to complement late 18th, early 19th century architecture without appearing too contemporary and/or exotic.
We fell in love with garapa, and it handily ticked all three considerations.
We sourced the milled-to-order garapa decking lumber from Advantage Lumber (@advantagelumber), and I was impressed with both their customer service and sales support. Unfortunately delivery of the lumber as less impressive. Advantage Lumber arranged shipment of the substantial order via ABF Freight (@abftoday) and — as with the majority of the logistical partners with whom we’ve worked in the last few years — they overpromised and underdelivered. Despite clearly articulating our tight timeline and receiving assurances that we’d received our garapa decking in time, the new decking material arrived late due to “logistics delays”. Sound familiar?
Unloading Garapa Decking, July 2022 (Source: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Unloading Garapa Decking, July 2022 (Source: Susan Bacot-Davis)
On July 28, just shy of high noon on a scorchingly hot and humid day, we received our order. Perfect conditions for unloading. David wisely volunteered to inventory the lumber inside the shady truck, Tony tackled the task of unloading lengths of garapa from the truck and passing it down to the deck where Hroth and I hauled, sorted, and stacked the precious cargo.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CgpAXM5uFCN/
Unloaded, sorted, inventoried, and ready to become Rosslyn’s new deck floor, this garapa looks absolutely sumptuous after a midsummer rain. We were all a little gobsmacked with the sheer beauty of this lumber. Even an aesthetically astute bat (or three) dropped in to celebrate the honey hued hardwood.
https://www.instagram.com/p/ChnfAqnvaju/
It took a couple of days for the team to find their groove, eager to balance forward motion with perfect execution to ensure that their workmanship matched the beauty of the material. Soon they were installing garapa decking from sunup to sundown, performing a mesmerizing choreography as efficient and beguiling as a ballet. (I better not let them read this or they may refuse to let me document their work ever again!)
https://www.instagram.com/reel/ChARdWSgBlX/
Although progress on this sort of deck is steady and incremental, my eagerness to complete the project sometimes overtook my patience. Why aren’t we further along yet?!?! But each day, reviewing the team’s accomplishments since morning afforded us all a daily opportunity to romance the stunningly beautiful deck taking shape. End-of-day reflection (revitalized with frosty libations) frequently ran to artistic and poetic reverie more than carpentry tropes and jokes. I kid you not, but again, don’t let the guys know I said that.
https://www.instagram.com/reel/ChXGgegAGR-/
Although that post above specifically called out Eric Crowningshield, this project brought out the best in everyone. If my photo / video recording were as nimble as I’d have liked, I would have posted a similar tribute to every single member of the team. I’ve already mentioned Hroth Ottosen above. You’ll be hearing plenty more about him in the weeks and months ahead because he’s such a vital asset. And, Pam Murphy, our friend and property / project manager extraordinaire, not only keeps our diverse projects sorted and successful, she is the most capable “air traffic controller” ever, juggling everyone and everything without letting anything tumble out of orbit.
These are a few of the most visible stars on this allstar team, but there are so many other: Susan’s cousin, David McCabe; our friend, Ed Conlin; electrician Brandon Dumas; jack-of-all-trades, Tony Foster; and Eric’s ever-reliable and hardworking team (Matt, Justin, Andrew, Jarrett, and Jason) Not only is the end product from this collaboration an understated masterpiece fit for the handsome home, but every day cooperation with this team was a pleasure and a privilege. We are profoundly grateful. (In fact, this is precisely why they’ve all teamed up for the icehouse rehabilitation project!)
https://www.instagram.com/p/CiaG1LjOStE/
There are the predictable successes with a project like this, but there are also serendipitous triumphs. One among many is captured in that delicate image above.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CiprpA5uLug/
Once the last board is scribed and screw head is plugged, it’s time to oil the garapa decking. It’s at this point that everything comes together, and the results are far more glorious than the sum of the parts.
https://www.instagram.com/reel/CipsbUSgn9f/
As each garapa board is tenderly treated with oil, the drama and depth of the wood comes alive. Such beauty!
https://www.instagram.com/reel/Ci0XQr3A3Rn/
There remain a few last details to conclude the project — a bit of landscaping here, a few painted trim details there — but the results are breathtaking. And this is never more evident than in the later afternoon when that mesmerizingly lush sunlight bathes the wood in amber and gold.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CjOEWAAOjQ4/
And this, my friends, is the sun soaked conclusion of our summer (and autumn) 2022 Rosslyn re-decking adventure. Installing garapa decking isn’t an overnight victory lap, but the painstaking efforts will pamper us for years. Susan, Carley, and I extend our most sincere thanks to everyone who helped transform this dream into reality.
I am on a quest for permission. Permission from Susan, from Rosslyn, even from family and friends. Most of all I am on a quest for permission from myself. This morning a serendipitous swirl of accidental-coincidental happenings helped me realize this. Chief among them (and the rightful recipients my profound gratitude) in the order they fluttered across my morning:
newly arrived “intense black” (actually deep green) fountain pen ink from Wordsworth & Black;
a joy-filled (cheerful words and jolly doodles) letter from my mother, Melissa Davis;
timely, astute, perspective bending counsel from Virginia Woolf; and
even more timely but equally astute, epiphanic insight from Nick Bantock.
In the photograph above, a few artifacts hint at the serendipitous series of events that, to my arguably esoteric way of thinking, fall into a phenomenon I refer to as rhyming. Sometimes the universe rhymes, or as poet Jeffrey Harrison might offer, if you’re receptive to it, you might hear “The Singing Underneath“. I’d best stand aside and let him guide us.
“just beneath the world we see,
there is a silent singing that breaks out
at moments, in flickering points of light.”
— Jeffrey Harrison, “The Singing Underneath”
The fountain pen, clogged with dry ink, awaiting new ink, had been a metaphorical reminder that I was stuck. Clogged. I wasn’t flowing as I needed to be. But new ink arrived just in time. The crusty piston pulled clean water in and pushed it out again. Unclogging with each plunge of the piston. Anticipation as I drew up the new ink. And then lines on paper. Perfect. Flowing again.
My mother’s 2-page note, complete with her unique illustrations, was an attentive parade of grateful acknowledgments gathered during a recent adventure together. Unselfconscious. Whimsical. Honest.
Virginia Woolf’s words needn’t be explained, only shared.
“He chooses; he synthesizes; in short, he has ceased to be a chronicler; he has become an artist.” — Virginia Woolf
I don’t know where I came across these words, and I’m failing now to find them. Perhaps I’ve misattributed this quotation? This morning at least, it doesn’t matter. The shift in perspective is precisely what I needed to consider. to prepare me for the keystone concept that gathered it all together.
Artist and author, Nick Bantock, shared a reflection on Griffin & Sabine that resonated right for me.
THE idea of writing a love letter to oneself sounds both indulgent and cheesy, and yet done in the name of self-acceptance rather than narcissism, I feel there’s much merit to the act.
I think when I wrote the following passage, from Sabine to Griffin, I was doing exactly that, I was articulating an inner need to bringing together and unite my opposite selves, my logical and intuitive personas:
“I have loved you in every manner that my imagination could contrive. I have wanted you so deeply that my body sang with pain and pleasure. You have been my obsession, my passion, my philosophers stone of fantasy. You are my desire, my longing, my spirit. I love you unconditionally. Do you hear me, Griffin? Do you see that I cherish you beyond question, that you have nothing to prove to me? You are making your journey to secure yourself. I am already tethered to your side. If you can love yourself, as I love you, there will be no dislocation — you will be whole. Bring yourself home to me and I will immerse you in every ounce of tenderness I possess. Sabine.”
Looking back, I can see that whilst the tale of G and S was certainly an expression of romantic longing, it was also a quest for permission. I was trying to give myself, and others, the encouragement to be both opposite and whole. — Nick Bantock (Source: Facebook, November 14, 2022)
Eureka! In revealing what he’s come to understand about what compelled him to create the Griffin & Sabine books, his words struck that ineffable something that Susan and I are grappling with and that I’ve been exploring in Rosslyn Redux — wondering, yearning, exploring, growing toward, backsliding and second guessing, and then venturing tentatively out again — over the last couple of years. I genuinely believe that he has captured succinctly and lucidly our journey: it’s “a quest for permission.”
I’ve referenced frequently, perhaps too frequently, an ongoing transformation in our relationship with Rosslyn, an evolution in our scheming and prognosticating and brainstorming. I’ve acknowledged liminality and the sometimes bittersweet, sometimes conflicted emotions that manifest suddenly and unpredictably as we attempt to navigate from comfort and stability toward the unfamiliar, unknown. At last I’ve stumbled on what I’ve needed to know. My quest for permission needn’t require such wayward roving. It is first and foremost my own consent I’m questing after. And part of accepting this is granting myself permission to embrace art above chronicle. I’ve suspected this. Dithered. Wondered. Worried. But this morning a confident confluence is flowing. And I’m ready…
Vintage Sherwood Inn Postcard (Source: Rosslyn Private Collection)
Almost two months ago I shared a reel on Instagram. I’m still new to reels, so I’ve been experimenting, playing really, exploring the potential. I actually really enjoy the ultra short format videos, and I’ve found the music matching and recommendation capacity provided by Instagram to be a little bit addictive. Sometimes the music recommended is spot on! Or at leas it seems to be…
Instagram recommended a clip from Rhiannon Giddens (@rhiannongiddens) “Build a House” and it seemed perfect! Hauntingly beautiful melody, Yo-Yo Ma (@yoyoma) accompanying on cello, and a message that seemed custom curated for what I was thinking about.
So then I traveled far and wide, far and wide, far and wide And then I traveled far and wide until I found a home
— Rhiannon Giddens (“Build a House”)
It turns out my haste and enthusiasm got the better of me. Here’s the Instagram Reel.
https://www.instagram.com/reel/CjjLMpSAr9x/
Arresting voice, mesmerizing lyric, and just plain captivating. Paired with a couple moody mugs of Rosslyn, it felt like a worthwhile experiment in Reel-creation. The platform does a remarkable job of empowering creativity, and I’ve found that the best way to learn is simply to try things out. Sort of like my approach to learning languages. Jump in. You might look silly sometimes, but jettisoning restraint and self consciousness definitely accelerates the learning curve.
But…
I should have done a little more research. Twenty-twenty hindsight. Yes, Rhiannon Giddens and Yo-Yo Ma breath life into “Build A House” in this hypnotic, haunting earworm. But this tiny excerpt of the lyrics — a couplet perfectly paired to my goals — is actually part of a potent song-story that is decidedly ill served by my pairing. In fact, I realize that I’ve flirted uncomfortably close with cultural appropriation. I understand that now.
Here’s Ms. Giddens on the song which was premiered on June 19, 2020.
“This song came knocking about a week ago and I had to open the door and let it in. What can I say about what’s been happening, what has happened, and what is continuing to happen, in this country, in the world? There’s too many words and none, all at once. So I let the music speak, as usual. What a thing to mark this 155th anniversary of Juneteenth with that beautiful soul Yo-Yo Ma. Honored to have it out in the world.” — Rhiannon Giddens
Here’s a clear eyed couple of couplets that add irony to my misappropriation of the verse, of the audio excerpt.
“I learned your words and wrote a song, wrote a song, wrote a song I learned your words and wrote a song to put my story down
But then you came and took my song, took my song, took my song But then you came and took my song, playing it for your own”
Rhiannon Giddens (Build a House)
Wow! I don’t think I can do much work in explaining how it felt to realize that I too had come along and taken her song, playing it for my own. Surreal.
Needless to say, I was tempted to remove the reel, to hang my head for perpetuating the pain captured so poignantly in the lyrics. But pretending I hadn’t made the mistake would be disingenuous. Own it. Humbly. Aware that this is not my song. It is borrowed. Out of context. Here’s the correct context.
That’s Rhiannon Giddens and Yo-Yo Ma performing “Build a House”. I’m certain you can’t watch/listen just once. Gidden’s song (and signing) woven into a musical story with Yo-Yo Ma’s unrivalled cello playing is like a pair of human voices sharing a memories, maybe a constellation of memories, a heritage. But rather than quaking under the burden of this heritage, the voices sing, rising and falling, repeating almost playfully. This song invites the listener to join in the infectious lyrics, daring the listener to become active, to join the song, to join the lament, help carry the burdensome heritage.
This interpretation, mine and decidedly unacademic, to be sure, seems to be consistent with the fact that Ms. Giddens song is also a book. For children. For adults. For all of us. There’s an accessibility, an infectious accessibility that “Build a House” vibrates into existence that wraps us all in the embrace of the story, that asks us all to carry the song forward. Even those of us inclined to hastily adopt it as out own, even if it might not appear to be our own.
Here’s the song as a video walkthrough of the illustrated book.
So I finish, conflicted with why I feel so compelled with this song despite the painful lyrics, why the rhythm and energy and spirit of the song continue to embrace me even as I recognize my initial misstep. No conclusions yet. But I’ve decided to leave the reel and acknowledge it here, to examine it honestly. If I offend, please accept my apologies. But if I have possibly brought this important song to you, and if it has germinated within your psyche as it has within my own, then perhaps my decision is not in vain. I certainly hope that will be the case.
Update: We Become One
A fee days have passed since I shared this post, and I’m still unable to let it go. Today I received a subtle hint from the universe. I like to think of moments when life rhymes, when, for a moment, we hear the singing underneath. I’ve just had one of those moments. I received an invitation to attend the upcoming Christmas caroling “pop-ups” that will be performed in coming weeks by the Santa Fe Desert Chorale. And linking through to the website I watched a video that included Joshua Haberman, Artistic Director for the Santa Fe Desert Chorale, talking about the power of chorale music. Specifically he was talking about lone individuals walking into Santa Fe Sings performances with a bit of trepidation because they arrived alone. But once inside, once the singing began, these individuals ceased to be alone. “Singing together we become one voice, one human family.” This struck me as the answer, or at least part of the answer, that I’ve been searching for. The power of music, especially music that invites us to sing or dance or sing-and-dance, is that it joins us together. We become one family.
“You’re right. We both could have careers,” she said. I nodded. “But could we really live full time in the boonies? Where the closest healthy supermarket is in Vermont, a ferry ride away?”
“I could. I have.”
“Maybe I could… Our friends here lead great lives, right?”
“Right.”
“They have so much more to talk about than work and kids,” Susan said. She described conversations with our friends in the city and suburbs inevitably veering onto the strains, calamities and milestones of parenting. “Nannies, babysitters, nutrition, education, play dates… I mean, I do love our friends’ kids. I love seeing their personalities and their interests and their abilities changing, but I’m so tired of the perpetual kid chatter. I’m sick of everyone griping that their lifestyles have been kidnapped by childbearing and then – in the same breadth – imploring us to have children, assuring us that it’s the best decision they ever made.”
We enjoyed spending time with children. I had taught middle school and high school students for a half dozen years and genuinely missed the daily interaction with teenagers. But long before we were even married Susan and I had decided that we would not have any children. Our insatiable appetites for wandering the globe and our tendency to hyper fixate on each new personal and professional endeavor, comprised less than ideal ingredients for child rearing.
“Our friends here are different.” Susan had the spirit now. “Even the ones who have children have so much more to talk about…” Her words came fast and excited. I turned on the hot water to warm up the tub. “They’re passionate about politics, the environment, the health and viability of the community. They’re enthusiastic about improving the world around them. They’re so much less concerned about financial success, about how big their homes are, how green their lawns are, how stylish their wardrobes are. They’re cultured. They’re well educated. They’re well informed. They love animals. They’re athletic. They’re outdoorsy… Can you turn that off? It’s burning my leg.” I turned off the hot water, and Susan resumed her monologue about the merits of our North Country friends and their lifestyles. Smaller communities resulted in greater civic involvement, she opined. “They join the boards of local non-profits. Or they start their own organizations. They participate in local government…”
“Susan?”
“They’re environmentalists, writers, doctors, teachers, lawyers, artists, realtors, yoga instructors. They’re entrepreneurs and architects, camp directors and farmers…”
“Susan, I’m with you. I understand. I agree.” She stopped talking and smiled. “You don’t need to lecture me on why we admire our friends’ passion or their choices to live intentionally. Or their abilities to balance meaningful work with quality of life. I’m on board. It’s admirable. We’re on the same page.”
“It’s just, the more I think about it, the more I realize I’d love to move here.”
“And the more you talk about it, the more I worry that your perspective’s a wee bit idealistic. No? A little too saccharine? A little too much MSG?”
Susan laughed. “Maybe.”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love the North Country tableau you’re describing, but I don’t want to…”
“I know.”
“You do? What?”
“You don’t want me to be disappointed if it doesn’t measure up.”
“Partly, and I… Listen, I really do like the idea of living up here, for a while, at least. But I don’t want you later to feel like you did it for me, like I talked you into it, like I misrepresented it or something. Does that make any sense?”
Three more reasons why I love living in Essex, New York: Beverly Eichenlaub's Essex Glass,Essex Provisions' shrimp quiche and Tom Duca's find-a-problem-solve-a-problem magic!
Yesterday afternoon Beverly Eichenlaub sent me a message:
“Fresh Item: Cufflinks! Come on over and choose your pair!”
She’s heading off to represent her jewelry, Essex Glass, at a Father’s Day show in Rhinebeck later today, so I zipped right over this afternoon to see what she’d built. Bev and her husband Bryan Burke are the architects behind Premises Architecture + Design, but like so many of us living in Essex, she prefers to wear a couple of hats. She’s an inspired (and inspiring) artist. “July”, a patriotic three dimensional collage created by Bev adorns the wall next to my desk, and my bride wears her beautiful earrings all the time. In fact, they’ve become one of her favorite gifts for family and friends!
July, by Beverly Eichenlaub
So it came as no surprise that her glass cufflinks were handsome works of art. She even designed a beautiful pair (the ones on the left in the photo above) to match a pair of earrings that she’d made for my bride. Can you imagine us showing up at The Depot Theatre with matching accessories? Snazzy! And better yet? She gave them to me as a gift. Today is Thursday, June 16, and no, it’s not my birthday. Or Christmas. It’s just another day in Essex… See why I love it here? Thanks, Bev. I love the cufflinks you gave me, and I’m excited to give the two pairs I bought as gifts. I know they’ll be well received. Good luck in Rhinebeck.
On my back to Rosslyn, I dropped into Essex Provisions for a mid-afternoon snack. They have the world’s best (bar none) oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, and they’re always warm and gooey. Perfect pick-me-up for a few more hours at the keyboard! My bride is unable to eat chocolate (Aaahhh, the injustice!) so I picked up a fresh berry muffin for her. That was the plan, just a quick snack times two. But when I arrived at the cash register, two exquisite quiches were smiling up at me. Both vegetarian, fresh and delicious smelling. A quick call to my bride: “Susan, Essex Provisions has just baked an exquisite tomato basil quiche and a shrimp and herb quiche. Would you like one?”
“Both!”
“Both?”
“Sure, one for now and one for later.”
“But they’re huge!”
“We can freeze one…”
Gluttony. Essex Provisions has tapped into our visceral appetites since opening less than a month ago. The food is delicious. The shop is spotless and charming with an outstanding view of Lake Champlain (out over the marinas). And the two ladies who run it are gracious and friendly. Win, win, win.
I convinced my bride that the shrimp quiche would be plenty for now. Dinner tonight. Perhaps lunch tomorrow. And then we could swing in for a fresh quiche this weekend or next weekend.
Feeling totally spoiled by this point, I headed back to Rosslyn where I bumped into Tom Duca. Tom was one of our first friends when we arrived in Essex. He’s the unofficial Essex cruise director and an all around good guy. His laughter and hugs are intricately woven into the Essex experience. Not just my Essex experience, but everybody’s Essex experience. I’m not kidding! Ask around…
In addition to town ambassador and hugger, Tom’s a gifted and hardworking carpenter. He spent the last two days building and installing a hook/hanging station outside our sports closet. I’ll share a photo soon. But the amazing thing about Tom is that each time he’s worked for us, he’s divined additional projects that need doing. And then he does them. Just like that. Sometimes before we’ve even realized something needs fixing! In the photo above, he’s painting a gate that needed touching up. Earlier he’s discovered that another gate wasn’t closing properly because the stone wall into which one side was mounted had shifted during the winter. He brought a jack and fixed the gatepost for the second year in a row without even being asked. And then touched the gate and gateposts up with paint. This morning I spied him touching up another gate, one of a pair of unique gates that he built and designed about a year ago. You can look forward to a full post with photos and drawings in the not-too-distant future. Tom solves all of these problems quickly, efficiently and perfectly. All without making a fuss. Trust me, this is extremely exceptional behavior for a contractor! And we feel incredibly fortunate for his work and his friendship.
What an afternoon! And these are just the three most recent perks of life in Essex…
Moody Rosslyn boathouse award!?!? I believe that Santa Fe native, Terrell White, may well have painted the most unique and evocative portrait of Rosslyn’s boathouse ever. Ben White, a former student from my brief tenure as a teacher and coach at Santa Fe Preparatory School (1996-9) reached out to me a while ago — how in the world does time slip-slide so swiftly downstream? — with this moody painting inspired by our historic dock house located just north of the Essex ferry dock.
My dad paints a few times a week. He’s always looking for inspiration, and I showed him a picture of your boathouse. Think it came out pretty good! ~ Ben White
The uncanny overlap between my various worlds and life phases tickled me. And the stunning image thrilled me!
Quite a few years have whooshed past since I last connected with Ben’s father. Life happened. Friendly follow-up slipped into the morass of busyness. Years came. Years went.
Until today. Something triggered the memory of this painting. I’ve managed to dug it up. And now it’s yours to enjoy. Let’s raise a cup full of fermented cheer to Terrell White for inventing the moodiest (and the most cinematographic) rendering of Rosslyn’s dock house to ever flit across my radar. I would love to capture a higher resolution photograph or scan of this singular painting, but until then, this curiously cropped digital will do.
Now it’s time to dig through old address books to see if I can reconnect with Terrell White. Stay tuned…
